Good Girls, Bad Boys
by PrettyxInxSin
Summary: You know the Parlor trick. Get a good girl, and a bad boy, then throw them together. Get them to form a friendship and a rivalry based on their life choices. Interject a little flirtatious fun. Watch. No pairings, unless you tilt your screen and squint, then there's just a touch of Gamrezi. Humanstuck AU, York!Stuck.


A/N: Fleshing out the Post-Scratch trolls for the Yorkstuck AU. Here we have Terezi and you know, only my favorite one of them all. ;x. Inspired from previous roleplays and Adventure Time's Fiona and Marshall Lee. Review and feedback is appreciated. Flames are used to make s'mores and prevent me from freezing. Enjoy!

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She's a good little girl, you know, the kind you don't like but wouldn't mind being.

She's always got iron-pressed clothes on. Her papers are never crumpled when she plucks her homework out of her notebook and hands it in to the second grade teacher. Beside her is one of the most popular girls to grace the school halls, lucky and infamous as can be.

Together, they were the Scourge Sisters and while nobody liked them, everybody knew them; envied them. They were in interesting positions of power; their parents were famous enough that the whole city could identify them by the roots of their hair.

Vriska was the hard one. She pushed kids and stole money. Lucky was she that they didn't utter words against her. Who would? Her mother, she warned, would come to cordially kick their skinny asses.

She wasn't as crass; rather, the tattletale. She'd expose everybody for the wrongdoings they committed and the teachers would place their hand on her shoulder with gold-star stickers tacked on her name tag. Students, she'd say, had a place to obey the teacher and of course she'd be the favorite, for she's made the example.

You know what they say, though. Justice is blind.

After one bad LARPing game, her eyes get jostled out of their sockets and she can't do a thing. She's staring into the center of the sun until black is the only color she can see.

Now she's the good girl kids don't want to be.

She's stuck stumbling over brail for months and slapping stupid kids with her new stick. She has a seeing-eye dog guiding her about and the teachers pity her. Vriska is no longer her friend.

No matter. She polishes up, stands straight in the line as if Mother is at her heels again with her yard-stick, puffs out her chest and puts on her best poker face. This takes years, of course, but now she's weeding out the weak in her university and playing Hangman with her dragons.

It's all in good practice. She has to know the law like mapmakers must know land. She's going to oust them all and damn, she's already stepping on the backs of the mindless in order to achieve her rank in the institution.

She's back to being that kind of girl, no, woman, all the students _envy. _One of the top students and she's only eighteen; she knows how to sucker the professor and not blink in one turn. Her fun is balanced – friends for two hours [sometimes three], only drink on the weekends [just two shots], and never stays up later than midnight. Out of the group of twelve, nobody can disagree. She's a likable one, pointy-tooth grin and all.

At the end of the day, though, she's still just a good girl and they're all her suspects.

Now she's stuck in the hallway breathing in Faygo and weed. There's a frown on her sharp features and she's holding her stick. He's in _that _direction, surely, and so she glares behind red shades.

Her name is Terezi Pyrope and there's a stupid lawbreaker muddling up her domain.

He's a bad little boy, the kind people don't care for and certainly don't want to be.

It's not like he ever meant to. He's got an invisible father always floating around in his office and a mother who's been MIA since he was three. They say she's dead, but he'll never listen.

He's that weird kid people are pointing at, you know, the kind people are giving all the side eyes and crude comments. His homework's never done [always torn], and he's sits in the back with no care in the world. Teachers put him in the corner and he's gone in three minutes. He likes to stare at the white walls and fluorescent lights, lost in thought.

He has problems listening, they say, paying attention. He just _sits _there, drawing better-than-average clown faces on tests and honking most obnoxiously when students are trying to read. His hygiene is deplorable [get the CAUTION sign out], and his manners most egregious. He chews with mouth open during class breakfast. He's that one kid who makes a mess and won't clean it up, the one who gets everybody to stay behind ten minutes after school because he just won't obey.

You'd think he'd stay that way, but this boy had to become a man at some point.

He's a bad little boy and now he's made friends. He's not what people would want to be but he's starting to get the crowd. High school hit and he's been in the psychiatric ward. Schizophrenia. Disorganized, to be specific. He regrets things he's done but his friends have forgiven him and he's carrying on the best he can.

The school won't support him. He's their underdog. Accommodations, what accommodations? Mental illness isn't real, just in your head, they would say. Still no father and his brother is off working hard.

Who's telling him to stop?

He steals, and he likes it. People should watch their wallets better. Twenty, forty– a hundred, once. Sometimes mail from rusty boxes on his walk home, sometimes food from the unmonitored grocery cart out in the parking lot. If they've got plenty and he's got none, they can live.

He fucks, too. Public, of course. School closets and movie theatres, parks, and there was that time at the swimming pool. Who said it was bad to express a natural urge as long as they were careful? Laws are rather fickle.

Let's not start on his knack for hash. He smuggles a good couple of ounces about, keeps a stash hidden and gets blazed wherever he wants on the grounds. Skips class, shows up when he feels like it. Has a transcript that has never looked so straight – only F's since the ninth grade. They want to take legal action but his family is elusive. He gets away with it and mostly only shows up just to mess around or see his friends.

Now he's nineteen, the Certified Dropout and he's the big, bad man. Nobody wants to be in his shoes but they all want to be beside him. He's quite sweet; patient. He loves to help people and listens to others. His moral code regarding respect and the treatment of others was pointing even farther than Straight North. He's a great friend, and treats them right, wants to do good beside them.

Not the law, though. He's a Black man in the big city and the system does not favor people like him. Stoner. Juggalo. Ill.

They undermined him. He knows blind spots to cameras and the places to hit. He knows the best dealer and all the riskiest spots. He never knows when he gets the urge to pursue his reckless hobbies .

Sometimes it can be days.

Sometimes, it can be months.

He'll never plan it. He just lets the opportunities unfold and makes visual maps of escape routes and pathways. Moment-by-moment, and he's never been caught.

At the end of the day (according to the "law"), he's still a bad boy.

Now he's stuck in the college trying to find his best friend with a bag full of weed and sixty dollars he snagged from a lost wallet, staring down one short young woman with one amused smirk.

His name is Gamzee Makara and this was going to be interesting.

"Makara." She raises a light brow. No doubt it was him – nobody else had such a distinct scent. "What are you doing here?"

"Aw, sister, I just be in the business of pickin' up my wicked Karbro." He smirk widens. He's amused by that irked expression.

"Liar."

"I'm not lyin'."

"I bet you did something on your way here."

He chuckles.

"And how would you be knowin' that?"

"Because. It's you , and I know better."

A hum leaves the raven's throat and he's waving the money to fan himself, as if he's nervous but he's still smirking.

Sweet little thing, trying to halt his progression of visiting his friend. She always seemed to be around when he was up to no good.

He likes it. They were an interesting duo with opposing goals and only one would come out the victor. He was going to keep her on her toes, make her work. She wants to understand?

He'll help her understand, alright, in the best manner possible. Tease, and evade.

"I only did things I've up and done before."

"Doesn't make it right. You're breaking the law. You're trespassing, smuggling an illegal drug, I bet, and you've stolen personal property. That's three acts against you."

Terezi's wondering how she even had the [mis]fortune of running into Gamzee. Stupid Makara, doesn't even go to college and he's just walking around on her turf with illegal and stolen goodies like he just owns the whole world. Did he have _any _appreciation for the hard-set laws the Founding Fathers have established?

He makes no sense. None. He just saunters around with his weird, whimsical ways, passing time with his band and a part-time job and lawbreaking activates abound. This wouldn't be so frustrating if she could only make _sense _of him, of how he got away for so long yet had such a fulfilling life.

He's the one criminal out in the open about what he does but it's not like she can bust him. That game ended when she found out about his diagnoses.

Still. She wanted answers. Logic. Knowledge. One could say she was even…curious, a little stricken with the audacity that is her rival [and friend, oddly enough].

What makes him tick?

"I know."

"You're such a pain."

"How'd you find me?"

"Don't get off topic."

"Well, it be wicked coincidental that you up and found me in this hallway of all mothefuckin' hallways in the school."

"I'm about to go to lunch."

"Is that a motherfuckin' fact?"

"Makara!"

He chuckles again, this time louder. Terezi opens her mouth, ready to peg him down but she can hear footsteps going left, no, right, oh, she didn't know what was going on but before she can check out her area with her stick, Gamzee tightens up the distance and keeps her caught between his body and the wall. His hand is by her head, and he's leaning in so his lips are close against her ear.

"Y'know, sister, good girls like you shouldn't up and worry about things you ain't even relevant to. You be findin' me a real motherfuckin' lot when I do this kind of stuff and I just can't up but wonder if you're a little wicked curious about me."

"Not at all. Bad boys like you need to be punished. It's simple, really. I just get lucky when I catch you in the act."

She wasn't going to lose. No, she wasn't going to lose. She was in perfect control, like always, even though she was turning a little red around her cheeks and hey, was that the lingering scent of Axe he was wearing?

"Sure thing, sister."

"Stuff it."

She stomps her pointed red heel down but hits the ground instead – Gamzee kept his eye on her feet.

Damn it.

"Now, now, sister, no need to get huffy with a motherfucker."

He pulls back and takes her hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick peck.

Three seconds. That's how long it lasted. Three seconds but she can feel his calloused fingers go over her knuckles and lips linger long enough for her to inhale the kind of shampoo he chose to use.

He was busy admiring the sharp contrast with a purr before pulling back.

"What was – "

"No motherfuckin' thing. Just some wicked friendly affection."

"Makara – "

"Sister, it's Gamzee. You be knowin' that since second grade." He laughs. Terezi tries to swat the area around her but he moved back, now.

"I'mma go get my Karbro and see you at Eridan's later for Feferi's birthday party. Try not to up and follow me too long."

Pause.

"By the way, cute motherfuckin' blush."

He was gone. Her perfect chance to get him to confess his secrets and she couldn't even muster more than a few sentences.

Terezi growls, rubbing her hand with pursed lips.

Stupid, stupid boy.

Perhaps…she was curious to know how things worked outside her world made only on principles of justice and law. Just a little, yes. That was a side interest.

Good girls like her don't need to be influenced by bad boys, do they?


End file.
